


Shinigami

by Sunhawk16



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-05 23:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14629367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunhawk16/pseuds/Sunhawk16
Summary: Ok, something a bit more light-hearted tonight... mostly. You know, when I go to post this stuff I sometimes have to stop and think if it's funny or not. I mean, I was going for funny, but then I kind of have to look at the subject matter and... then I'm not so sure.I think this mostly just says my sense of humor is subjective. Or something.Anyway, this one is from an outside POV.  Posted as day four for the 12 days of Christmas 2017.





	Shinigami

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, something a bit more light-hearted tonight... mostly. You know, when I go to post this stuff I sometimes have to stop and think if it's funny or not. I mean, I was going for funny, but then I kind of have to look at the subject matter and... then I'm not so sure.  
> I think this mostly just says my sense of humor is subjective. Or something.  
> Anyway, this one is from an outside POV. Posted as day four for the 12 days of Christmas 2017.

I really don’t care for doing audits and usually just delegate them to a batch of reliable underlings. But when one of your newest Sorters suddenly starts breaking all manner of productivity records… it requires some rank get involved.

They say rank has its privileges, but I find rank has its obligations to be more apt.

Though there was a certain amount of amusement to be had in watching my minions wander into the room to clock in, yawning and scratching and muttering about coffee… until they noticed me standing next to the time clock.

Later, my second in command would suggest I appear on random days and just stand in the corner of the room at shift change; it was apparently the fastest start we’d ever had.

But finally, the one I had been waiting for sauntered into the room. No yawning and scratching for this one. Bright eyed and bushy tailed was a term I’d heard, but can’t say I’ve ever witnessed before. The lad fairly bounced when he walked. The grin I’d seen in his profile photo was, apparently, a genuine thing. It might actually have been wider than advertised, something I had not thought possible.

Sorter Class One, Duo Maxwell. Just up from the ranks of Collector where he’d held an impressive record of 100% delivery on assignments. Graduated top of his class with all honors, had jumped straight to field work and breezed through all three Collector classes and now here he was… one of my minions.

When the numbers had been brought to my attention, of course I’d contacted his former supervisor in Collections, and the reviews had all been glowing. I actually wondered if there wasn’t a little Maxwell shrine somewhere down in the east side facility.

All of these things had added up to me deciding to do my first job audit in a whole lot of years.

‘Good morning Sorter Maxwell,’ I greeted and saw looks of pity (much intermingled with relief), cast his way from his fellows.

He rather surprised me with a cheery, ‘Good morning, Boss!’ with not a hint of fear or anxiety in the wide grin he flashed me. In fact, he reached past me for his time card and clocked in like he hadn’t a clue I was there for more than to say good morning to the shift.

When he headed on toward his office, I fell into step beside him. All I got was the rise of a quizzical eyebrow.

‘I will be auditing your case-load today Sorter Maxwell,’ I informed him.

‘Wow!’ he said, as though this was some high honor and not the unprecedented event it was. ‘That’s pretty awesome! I’m really flattered; I don’t think I’ve met anybody else who’s done an audit with you.’

He was not able to see the quizzical eye brow raise that bordered on astounded as I was walking a pace behind as he led the way to his office. One of many identical offices that run the length of a very long corridor. As a relative ‘newb’, his was one of the last in the row. I wearied of the walk and with a snap of my fingers brought us to his door.

‘Cool,’ he grinned and then hesitated. ‘Uh… sir… I only have the two chairs. Should I…’

‘I will not be visible during your interviews, Sorter Maxwell,’ I intoned, bringing just a touch of the old command to the voice. Time that my newest minion understood the nature of things. ‘This is a job audit. I am here because of your numbers…’

That ever-present grin faded and his shoulders slumped slightly. I found I was almost disappointed; a full confession now would make this the shortest audit in the history of audits. If I’d known how effective the voice would be on him, I could have saved the walk.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and if he’d been a dog, his ears would have drooped and his tail tucked. I drew myself up and looked sternly down at him. ‘I know I must not be keeping up very well, but I’ve only been on the job a few months. I know I’ll get better…’

I did not allow the dumbfounded look to show. ‘Sorter Maxwell,’ I said, cutting off the confession that wasn’t the confession I’d been expecting. ‘Keeping up is not the problem. You are out-producing everyone on the line. You’ve broken records that have stood for over two hundred years.'

His face didn’t quite know what to do with itself. He finally understood he was in some trouble, but part of him still wanted to be delighted at his standing. The man was a puzzle. When he didn’t find words, I gestured to his office door.

‘Let us begin, Sorter Maxwell,’ I told him, ‘I have other things on my agenda today.’

He took his droopy non-ears and shuffled into his office, holding the door for me. I assumed a station in the corner and gave him the baleful look of an unhappy boss.

‘What… what do I do?’ he asked, obviously confused and perhaps trying to imagine doing his job with my towering presence standing to the side.

‘Just do your job, Sorter Maxwell,’ I instructed and then faded from sight.

He couldn’t help a muttered, ‘Wow,’ but then he sat down at his desk, took a deep breath and seemed to shake himself into focus. He lifted up the first file folder in his stack and pulled a notepad out of his desk drawer. He’d obviously already been over the information on the soul contained within, but he went over his notes again, making a few underlines before finally pressing the intercom button.

‘Good morning, sir,’ came a perky voice. ‘Ready for your first case?’

‘Morning, Willow,’ he replied, ‘let’s get this day started… can I verify the case number?’

It surprised me from a Sorter breaking records; it was a level of thoroughness you didn’t often see in the ranks of the newly prompted.

Yes sir,’ the perky Willow replied, ‘1610373235.’

His finger ran along the numbers on the file in front of him and he nodded, before switching to the name below the case number. ‘Go ahead and bring in Mrs. Segaloff.’

‘Yes Sir,’ she replied, but then hesitated. ‘You alright this morning, sir?’

Sorter Maxwell actually turned to look at the intercom button, his expression uncomfortable. ‘Why… why do you ask?’

‘Because I’ve called you sir four times and you haven’t corrected me once and told me to call you Duo,’ he was informed.

He covered with a chuckle and I made a mental note that Miss Willow warranted a follow up interview. ‘I uh… missed getting anything to drink is all,’ then seemed to rally a bit. ‘But Sir me again and I’ll start Ma’aming you.’

‘The horror!’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I’ll be right in.’

It didn’t take long before the side door was opened and a short little woman was escorted in by the presumed Miss Willow. Sorter Maxwell didn’t even glance my way, but rose and gently shook hands with the recently departed Mrs. Segaloff, going around to hold the chair for her while his receptionist slipped quietly back out. I had to admit it was a nice hand-off; there’s an art to passing a freshly sundered soul around and keeping them calm at the same time. There are a number of steps in the process of dying, and people just don’t seem to expect how bureaucratic it can be.

Sorter Maxwell returned to his side of the desk and smiled warmly at his first case of the day.

Mrs. Segaloff was busy looking around the room and not seeming to care for the utilitarianess of it all. ‘This is where I’m to meet my maker?’ she finally asked, a bit primly. ‘This is not at all what one would… expect.’

Streets of gold. Clouds and rainbows. Harp playing angels. As if they have nothing better to do. Popular culture does nothing to prepare one for the here-after.

‘I’ll make a note of the complaint,’ Sorter Maxwell offered, pulled a second notebook out of his desk and jotted down a tastefully edited version of the woman’s suggestion that the accommodations be more… posh.

‘Now Mrs. Segaloff…’ he began, but she waved dismissively at him.

‘Please call me Agnes,’ she said breezily. ‘You’re about to decide my fate, if I understand these things right, and we should be on a first name basis.’

Sorter Maxwell coughed slightly and nodded, ‘Agnes then,’ he said and started again, only to be cut off again.

‘I did receive communion in the hospital,’ she informed him, obviously of the opinion that erased everything leading up to that moment. ‘Henry and I attended church every holiday, and I always volunteered for the children’s charity events.’

I snorted, because I was completely incorporeal and could do so in the privacy of my own fold of time and space. It had been a lot of years since I’d sat in Sorter Maxwell’s seat, but I well remembered the type; they only showed up at the services where there was going to be food after.

‘That’s all in your file, Agnes,’ Sorter Maxwell assured her and that was where he deviated from the normal ‘script’ of the job.

Not that a Sorter has a true written out script… we want them to exercise their own personalities and find their own rhythms, but this should have been the part where the process was explained. Just how the weighing of souls was done.

‘Oh no, Agnes,’ he said, waving his own dismissive hand. ‘Sorting is the next step in the process. I’m the clerk in charge of last wishes.’

Last… what? My fold of time and space worked nicely to contain the expletive laced query that slipped past my lips.

‘Last wishes?’ The soul of Agnes Segaloff asked, as bewildered as I was. ‘I don’t understand?’

Sorter Maxwell leaned forward and his patented wide grin was directed at the dowdy, dumpy little soul sitting across from him. ‘Every dearly departed is entitled to one last wish. One final thing left from their life that perhaps troubles them?’

‘A last wish?’ Agnes repeated, seeming to warm to the idea. ‘Anything at all?’

Sorter Maxwell leaned back a bit and steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘Well, within reason, of course,’ he said with a wink. ‘We certainly can’t send people back… that would be the final wish of everyone in the world and then where would we be?’

Agnes looked vaguely disappointed, but decided not to argue the point. ‘So I could… what?’

Sorter Maxwell leaned forward again, his hands going down to his desk and he took on a conspiratorial role. I wondered if in life he’d perhaps sold used cars.

‘Well now, Agnes, let me give you some examples,’ he glanced at the file in front of him though I could tell he didn’t need to. ‘I see you have three children, perhaps you’d like to wish a little luck their way? You’re oldest is unemployed, I believe? A job, perhaps? And your middle daughter has a boyfriend I see you’re not very fond of?’

‘That low-life she calls a boyfriend,’ Agnes grumbled. ‘Comes from terrible stock and works as a mechanic, of all things!’

‘It says here he’s going to school too…’ Sorter Maxwell tried to interject, but Agnes had warmed to her topic.

‘Slovenly!’ she exclaimed, leaning forward herself like she was gossiping with an old friend. ‘He never has the grease cleaned out from under his nails; it’s just disgusting to have him sit at my table. Melinda just doesn’t understand how he’s holding her back socially. He reflects badly on the entirely family.’

Sorter Maxwell looked down at his notepad and took a moment to write the word ‘grease’ in the margin of his notes. Agnes nodded with satisfaction.

‘And your youngest daughter, I see, is trying to have a child of her own? I believe you were looking forward to being a grandmother. But there hasn’t been any luck so far, perhaps…?’

‘Well, I’m certainly not going to get to enjoy any hypothetical grandchildren now, am I?’ and a glare was leveled at Sorter Maxwell as though he were still in Collections.

‘This is true,’ he commiserated, but then brushed past the comment, returned to a more professional tone. ‘But you see the kinds of wishes we can grant, Agnes. But unfortunately, you can only choose one wish.’

‘That hardly seems fair when one has more than one child,’ she huffed, giving him a look just inviting him to cheat the system. The very made-up, very unreal system.

‘Now Agnes,’ he chided, but gave her a wink that made her sigh but give it up. ‘Do you need a few minutes to think it over?’

‘Oh no,’ she said firmly, ‘I just need to clarify just what I can do. I want that low-life out of my daughter’s life… I just don’t know how to do it.’

‘Your daughter seems very happy with… uh,’ he glanced down at his notepad again, but it was just an effect because I could see he wasn’t even reading that part of the page. ‘Todd. He treats her very well…’

‘Of course he does,’ Agnes grumbled. ‘He knows a meal ticket when he sees it.’

‘Of course,’ Sorter Maxwell parroted back, and she didn’t seem to notice the slight change in his tone.

‘Can I have him just die,’ she mused, and I found myself blinking at the dowdy, unassuming thing. Who would have thought?

‘Uh… no,’ Sorter Maxwell told her, looking a bit surprised himself. ‘That would require a voucher from Fate and a special charter out of Collections.’

Disgruntled is probably the look that passed the soul’s face then. ‘Of very well… could I wish that he’d run away with… with… a waitress or something? Somebody more suited to his station in life? I suppose whatever gets him away from Melinda.’

Sorter Maxwell sat very still for a moment, perhaps giving the woman time to think through what she was saying. But somewhere behind her eyes, I suspected she was just seeing cars falling of lifts and flattening the much hated Todd in a garage somewhere.

‘You are very sure about this?’ Sorter Maxwell asked, and I was a little surprised that he was giving her another chance. I was also a little surprised at my own feeling of… strong irritation. ‘You wouldn’t want to ensure your son finds work? Or that your daughter conceives? Or maybe something for your husband?’

‘Oh,’ Agnes said, looking a bit taken aback. ‘I’d forgotten about him… it would be nice to make sure he never remarries.’ She contemplated that for a moment before shaking her head. ‘No… no, it is much more important to get Todd out of the picture before my daughter does something irrevocable and makes him part of the family or something equally unthinkable.’

‘Yeah,’ muttered Sorter Maxwell, ‘can’t have that happen. Wouldn’t want your daughter actually marrying somebody who loves her. How awful.’

‘Now this is just between you and me, right?’ Agnes asked, a bit belatedly, I thought, and apparently not having caught the muttered comment.

‘Absolutely!’ Sorter Maxwell replied in such a chipper manner, I actually cringed. ‘What happens in the offices of Last Wishes, stays in the offices of Last Wishes.’

She smiled back at him with the most self-satisfied look I have ever seen.

What a moron.

But then, Sorter Maxwell was a heck of a salesman.

With no hesitation at all, he reached into his left hand desk drawer and pulled out his Sorting stamp. The not good one. Agnes Segaloff’s chart received a firm stamp of non-approval, the cover was flipped closed and the reception button was pushed.

The competent and smiling Miss Willow appeared in the doorway a moment later to escort the happy Agnes on to the next stop in her journey.

She and Sorter Maxwell shook hands, her file was handed off, and they took their leave.

Sorter Maxwell left out a huff of a sigh, shook his head and sat back down at his desk, picking up the next chart in his pile.

I honestly think he’d forgotten I was there, because he jumped when I faded back into view.

‘That is a very… interesting system you’ve worked out, Sorter Maxwell,’ I told him. Most Sorters up and down the hall would still be working their first cases of the day for another hour or so.

‘Uh… thanks?’ he hedged, not sure yet if my interpretation of ‘interesting’ was going to be for or against him.

‘Tell me,’ I wanted to know, ‘what happens if the soul chooses a wish that isn’t… evil?’

‘Those take longer,’ he explained, ‘because you can’t entirely trust that they didn’t just get all their evil acts out of the way already.’

I allowed myself… or him, depending on how you looked at it… one small snort of amusement.

‘And have you ever had a soul choose badly in this office, that you didn’t immediately give the red stamp to?’

‘A couple of times,’ he admitted, ‘but there were extenuating circumstances and the ‘wishee’ actually deserved it.’

‘I’ll want to review those cases,’ I told him and should have been surprised when he wrote down the case numbers from memory, but somehow was not.

I took the scrap of paper from him and had to sigh. ‘You’re going to cost me a great deal of time in meetings, Sorter Maxwell,’ I told him. ‘This… method of yours warrants some investigation.’

Investigation. An ethics review. By rights all of his cases should be resorted for accuracy. And I wasn’t going to rule out a possible policy change.

His wide smile said a very clear ‘Thanks, Boss!’ while his mouth told me a sheepish ‘Sorry, Boss.’

‘Oh, you’ll be sorry if this passes the board,’ I informed him, ‘and I volunteer you for the implementation committee. In your free time, of course.’

‘Of… of course,’ he managed, for the first time all day managing to look truly alarmed.

So that was how I left him. A little bit of alarm would do him some good. I took my leave and warped back to my office. I had some cases to review. Though… I had little doubt I would find a single thing wrong with a one of them.

Then I thought I might do some in-depth research on a certain Duo Maxwell’s history and background. We don’t normally look into the pre-sundered life of an employee of the Collections and Sorting Corps… but I don’t often run across one of my minions that look like they might come for my job one day. The next couple of centuries promised to be… interesting.


End file.
